


Absolute, Yet Underwater

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Despite the obvious changes needed on a daily basis, Mycroft’s mind palace was functional, and had never needed reworked. Had never experienced something that it couldn't cope with.</i><br/>Until John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Revelation.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phipiohsum475](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/gifts).



> Happy early birthday to [ phipiohsum475](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475), a great co-writer and friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  Cover for "Absolute, Yet Underwater" made by yours truly. Thanks for reading everyone!

It was a strange thing, Mycroft’s brain. It was absolute. It was logical. Statistics and fact, binary and unchanging, unswayable. Similar to Sherlock, he had a ‘mind palace’. Unlike Sherlock, his was not a palace, instead a series of chess boards lined up adjacent to one another, each game piece topped with a never ending clock, ticking away facts and figures.

Mycroft could stroll from square to square, the boards covered by a massive umbrella, strings dangling like flycatchers with facts still to be sorted, facts that belonged on no board. It was unconventional perhaps, but strategic. Each knight a person from the past, each bishop someone who had more power than they thought. The Kings and Queens, the policy makers, standing still and silent over the board. Pawns, easily replaceable, moved about as necessary.

Despite the obvious changes needed on a daily basis, Mycroft’s mind palace was functional, and had never needed reworked. Had never experienced something that it couldn't cope with.  
Until John Watson.

**

It wasn’t at the warehouse, or any meetings after. It was a simple meeting in the park, after Sherlock had died, and come back. After Moriarty had died, and hadn’t come back. After Mary had left, and hadn’t come back, and the gold ring on John’s finger was put on a gold chain and settled around the neck of a smiling baby, with light mocha skin and bright blue eyes that went with her.

Mycroft settled onto the bench, only for a small shadow to fall over him. “Didn’t think you’d come to a place like this,” John said, sitting next to him, hands tucked deep in his pockets of his jacket.

“I occasionally find that sunlight is something I crave,” Mycroft replied. They fell silent, Mycroft pulling out a package of cigarettes and lighting one, the spark of the lighter loud between them.

“Shouldn’t smoke,” John said.

“I shouldn’t do many things,” Mycroft said, and silence fell between them again, oddly comfortable though unsaid questions hung in the air.

“You know, your brother is a git,” John said after a long while.

‘And what other astounding observations have you for me, Dr.Watson? ” Mycroft replied, a small smirk drifting over his face. “That one has long been known.”

“He’s always bothering me about something in particular,” John continued, ignoring him.

“What might that be?”

“That I’m not seeing anyone anymore.”

“I was under the impression that he didn’t approve of you dating.”

“He does not,” John said, leaning back. “But he wants me, and I quote “to stop moping around after the end of my marriage to someone who didn’t love me anyhow, and whom I never loved but only married because I couldn’t stand to look the only person I’d actually formed a romantic attraction to in the past two years because I’d died and for whatever reason, sentiment was clouding my judgement.”

“So as always, Sherlock has made everything about himself,” Mycroft said, glancing over at John. “Who was it?”

“Who was who?” John asked, staring resolutely forward.

“Who was it that you’d formed a romantic attachment to? A man, I assume, since that’s always been your preference.”

“Of course you know that,” John said with a sigh. “Yes. He is a man. And you know him. But unfortunately, he would never go for me.”

“I see,” Mycroft said quietly. “DI Lestrade is a very lucky man to have won your heart then. I think you are wrong, of course. He is most likely uninterested at this moment, but I’m sure if you spoke to him, he could change his mind. ”

“What? Mycroft, no,” John said, turning to look at him in confusion. “It’s not Greg I’m talking about.” He wet his lips. “It’s you.”

“Me?” Mycroft said, blinking, heart stuttering.

John nodded again. “See? Like I said, no chance of that happening.” He stood. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” he said, head hung, dejected. “It’s been a long day already.”

Mycroft shot out a hand, grabbing his wrist. “Wait, John. Wait.”

John paused, glancing down to where Mycroft’s fingers were wrapped tight around his wrist, each finger a brand of heat and potential. “Yeah?” he breathed, darting his tongue out to wet his lips.

“Would you...care to go to dinner with me?” Mycroft asked, almost hesitant, almost nervous, almost many things, but hiding them well.

“Mycroft, I didn’t come here to force you into anything. Hell, I didn’t even know you’d be here,” John said. “Please don’t ask me to dinner because of pity. I don’t need it.” He tugged his wrist away.

“It’s not pity, John.” Mycroft stood. “Please. Say yes.”

John looked up at him. “And if I do?”

“Then we’ll go to dinner, and if it goes well, we’ll have another discussion afterwards, and if it goes badly, you can assure Sherlock we’ve tried.”

John hesitated, then nodded slowly. “All right. Yeah. When?”

“I’ll message you a night I am free?” Mycroft asked. “Sometime later tonight after I’ve examined my schedule?”

“That’d be nice,” John admitted, hope blooming in his chest. He cleared his throat and looked awkwardly into the distance. “I should probably go now. Make sure Sherlock hasn’t burned down the flat because he’s in a strop.”

“Something similar did happen before,” Mycroft said. “We had to change schools. It was rather bothersome to be known as the “well-behaved Holmes brother who didn’t set fire to the cafeteria”.”

A grin broke out over John’s face, and he began to laugh. Mycroft blinked, and felt something inside him swirl up, heady and excitable.

John shook his head. “I swear, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, hanging about you two.” He smiled up at Mycroft. “I’ll see you sometime soon then, yeah?”

“Certainly,” Mycroft said, barely resisting from shaking his head to clear it, feeling very much like he was underwater.

“All right then.” John kept smiling as he made to turn away. “See you, Mycroft. No warehouse this time please. And let me know the dress code for where we’re going, won’t you?”

“Certainly,” Mycroft repeated, watching him go. “Have a lovely day, John.”

He sat back down on the bench, and leaned back, proper posture forgotten. “Dinner,” he murmured. “With John Watson.”


	2. Sinking

**This Saturday, at 8pm? MH**

_That should do, yeah. Dress code?_

**Whatever you would like. It will be just you and I. MH**

_That doesn’t tell me anything. And you don’t have to sign your messages, I know it’s you, Mycroft._

**When we were younger, Sherlock had a nasty habit of stealing my things. I took to initialling everything. The habit has remained. Dress as you see fit. I will be in my usual attire. MH**

_Oh. Well, in that case, will you be giving me a lift? JW_

**Yes. And you don’t have to sign your messages, I know it’s you, John. MH**

_Cheeky. See you at 8. JW_

Mycroft set his phone aside, a small smile on his face.

“Sir, the delegation is here to speak with you now,” Anthea said, rapping at his door before she entered. “They’re in meeting room three.”

Mycroft nodded once, smile wiped away as he stood. “Very well, thank you, Anthea.”

**  
Saturday arrived to find John with a split lip and Sherlock sporting a set of black eyes as he sat on John’s bed, pouting.

“This one?” John said, half ignoring him, half hoping Sherlock would give him some advice.

Sherlock huffed. “No, John don’t be ridiculous.”

John frowned, looking over from the wardrobe. “This one then?” he asked, tugging on the sleeve of a black pullover.

Sherlock gave a long, extended, put upon sigh as he unfolded himself, stalking over to the wardrobe. He elbowed John out of the way, and pulled out a pair of jeans, a grey button up and a navy blue jumper, pushing it at him. “These,” he said. “Stop dithering, get dressed and go on your date with fatcroft already. It’s taken you long enough.”

“Your brother isn’t fat, Sherlock.” John gave Sherlock a derisive look. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Are you hoping to get lucky?” Sherlock sneered as John walked out.

“Maybe!” John called back, slamming the bathroom door.

Sherlock huffed and went out to the living room, curling up on the sofa.

**

“Don’t look so put out, brother mine,” Mycroft said, looking with disapproval after he’d stepped into the flat, Sherlock refusing to answer the door. “I won’t steal him from you. Is John-ah.” He turned, smiling hastily as John came down the hall. “John. You look lovely.”

Sherlock scoffed, and John glared at him. “Thanks, Mycroft. So do you. Ready then?” he asked, smiling back at Mycroft.

“Yes, more than.”

“Be safe, you two!” Sherlock called out in a eerily accurate impersonation of Mrs.Hudson, John slamming the flat door in retaliation. “Don’t want any mistakes do we?”

Mycroft looked utterly scandalized, quickly ushering John into the car before his brother could do any more damage. “John, I assure you, I have no intentions of-”

“Mycroft,” John said, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I know Sherlock is just trying to press your buttons. ”

“Yes. Well.” Mycroft cleared his throat as the car pulled away from the kerb. He shifted in his seat, back ramrod straight as he stared ahead.

“Mycroft,” John said after a bit, wetting his lips and glancing at him. “Ah. How was work? I assume you worked today.”

“It was fine, thank you. Yourself?” Mycroft asked.

“Didn’t work. Ran around with Sherlock and got a busted lip for my troubles,” John replied. “Listen, Mycroft. Can you just...relax? This isn’t going to work unless you relax. And I’d rather not give it up as a bad job before it’s even started.”

Mycroft let out a small breath, relaxing incrementally. “Apologies. I am unused to…”

“This?” John interrupted. “Yeah, I can tell. It’s not exactly commonplace for me either. More used to quick shags in the sand and bloody goodbyes if I’m honest, with men anyway. Women, well.” He shrugged

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, well. It’s been sometime for both of us then.”

“Yeah, it has. So can we start over?” John asked, smiling at him. “Hello, Mycroft. You look lovely tonight. Where are we going?”

Mycroft smiled back. “You look lovely as well, John. You used to be rather fond of tropical fish when you were younger, were you not?”

“Yeah,” John said, curiosity flashing over his face. “What’s that got to do with dinner?”

Mycroft smiled again, an honest smile. “Just keep that in mind, will you?”

“All right,” John said, still wondering. “So...tell me about work, will you? Whatever you can share?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. You’re familiar with my assistant Anthea, are you not? Well…”

**  
“Wait. Are you taking me to the aquarium before we eat?” John asked as the car stopped and he got out, looking between the building and the London Eye

“You like fish,” Mycroft said, stepping out next to him.

Anthea opened the door and waved them in. “Ready for you, sir. The security detail has swept the floors and exhibits as well.”

“Thank you, Anthea.” Mycroft led John in, the door shutting behind them, heading straight to the elevators.

“Mycroft, are we the only ones here?” John asked in disbelief, looking around. “This place closes at eight.”

“We are the only ones here, the aquarium does close at eight, and no, we are not simply here for a quick tour,” Mycroft said, calling the lift. “We are going to dine. Unless you’d rather not?” Mycroft asked hesitantly, stepping in, John trailing after him. “I realize it is rather unconventional, but I thought it would be nice.”

“It is nice...I just, did you rent out the aquarium for me?” John asked again, fixing Mycroft with a look that meant _no-holds-barred-if-you-do-not-tell-me-the-truth._

“Is that a problem?” Mycroft asked as they went down, averting his gaze to stare directly at the elevator doors.

“It’s a bit much,” John replied. “It’s fine though. Really,” he continued catching the look of panic on Mycroft’s face. “I mean-oh….” He blinked in surprise as the doors opened, and he saw a table swathed in white cloth, set up in front of a tall glass tank, running floor to ceiling. Colorful fish swam inside, tiny neon tetras darting around in groups, weaving between long silky grass as angel fish drifted past. “Candles?” John asked, grinning, stepping out of the lift. “Mycroft, is this dinner? We’re eating in front of the tank?”

“Yes. And I promise, our meal is not fish. Of any kind,” Mycroft said, following him over to the glass.

“Good,” John said with a laugh. “Oh my god! Are those seahorses? Oh look, they have an eel!” He glanced around. “Is there something that shows what’s in here?”

Mycroft reached over, taking a laminated placard from a hidden slot and handing it to John. “Just here, John.”

“Thank you,” John said, taking it and examining it with glee. “Which one is your favourite?”

“I’ve always been a fan of the marbled bamboo cat shark,” Mycroft said, pointing it out, hiding in the sand under a colorful bit of coral.

“And what’s mine?” John asked teasingly. “Go on, I know you’ve guessed.”

Mycroft sighed . “The red mandarin. You always enjoyed the colors when you were younger, likely because they reminded you of your grandmother’s carpet.”

“Dead on,” John said. “Brilliant.” He reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s hand as a flush sparked high on Mycroft’s cheeks. “We’ve got this place to ourselves right?”

“Yes,” Mycroft breathed, distracted by the heat of John’s hand in his own.

“Well, let’s eat. Then you can take me on a tour. I want to see the sharks next.”

“As you wish, John.”

They went back over to the table, sitting down. John smiled as he uncovered the plates. “Is this from Angelo’s?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock is not the only one who has made friends with excellent culinary skills.”

John smiled. “I’m sure. It looks very nice Mycroft. Let’s eat.”

**

After dinner, Mycroft and John walked away from the tank, following arrows on the floor around the different exhibits. “I don’t think I’ve been here since I was about ten,” John said quietly. He smiled at Mycroft. “Thank you for this,” he said, reaching out and slipping his hand into Mycroft’s.

“Is tonight meeting your standards so far?” Mycroft asked, smiling at the weight of their hands together.

“More than. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this,” John admitted, stopping as they passed another wall of tanks, looking happily at the sea turtles inside. “But this is really, just amazing, Mycroft. It’s nice to do something normal. And no Sherlock interrupting this time.”

“Well, he might have tried, but I did have Inspector Lestrade send him a cold case I’ve been having him hold back for a day when I really did need Sherlock distracted. Perhaps not incredibly moral, but quite useful.”

John laughed. “Should I be worried about what I’ll go home to? Any more heads without their bodies in the fridge?”

“Perhaps. It was a decapitation case,” Mycroft admitted.

John groaned. “I’ll have to get more milk then. He’ll have left it out to fit the head in.”

“It is a just a possibility, John. Shall I text Dr.Hooper and ensure she refuse to give him one? She has already gotten much better at standing up to my brother, and I know she prefers not to let heads roll in any case.”

John glanced at him. “Did you just try to make a joke about decapitated heads?” he asked, a grin starting to spread over his face.

“That depends on if it was a good joke, and if you found it amusing,” Mycroft said, sharing a small smirk.

John just laughed, and tugged gently on his hand, pulling him over to the next tank.

“And last but certainly not least, the sharks,” Mycroft said, looking up as the sharks swam above them, the tank arching over a small walkway.

“You like sharks, don’t you?” John asked, seeing a dash of excitement in his eyes.

“Yes, and rays,” Mycroft admitted. “If pressed, I will blame Sherlock for that.”

“Why’s that?”

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock wished to be a pirate up until about age twelve, and to be frank, I don’t think he’s ever quite given up on that dream. He certainly has the dramatic tendencies for it. But, he decided to research marine life one summer, and consistently left his books strewn about the house. I was without anything to do one night, and decided to pick them up. I ended up sitting down and reading through a few that night. I just find them fascinating, sharks. They’re ancient creatures, and in reality, quite harmless, though humans fail to see that.” Mycroft frowned, watching a smooth hound drift by at the bottom of the tank.

“You care about them,” John said quietly.

“I suppose you could say that,” Mycroft replied. “They are powerful predators, but helpless against forces outside their control. It is a way to stay….grounded, in my line of work. The comparisons.”

“That’s good, Mycroft,” John said, squeezing his hand. “You and Sherlock both, I think, sometimes you need a reminder that you're human. That you're not infallible.” Mycroft glanced at him, and John smiled. “And in your case, that a minor position in the British government does not make you all powerful.”

“Are you quite sure?” Mycroft asked, turning to face him. “After all, I did rent out the entirety of the aquarium.”

John grinned. “Yeah, that’s not power, that’s just money. And definitely sentiment,” he said, raising an eyebrow as Mycroft did the same.

“Are you mocking me?” Mycroft asked, stiffening.

“Not at all,” John replied. “I was actually thinking about how your lips would feel.”

Mycroft blinked. “My lips?”

“Yeah. How they’d feel on mine,” John said. He brought his free hand up, curling it around the back of Mycroft’s neck, as he raised up on his toes, pressing their lips together.

Mycroft’s breath left him, and he closed his eyes, something breaking free in his chest, something strange and unwieldy, unbalancing. A small moan fought to leave him, Mycroft barely keeping it contained as John’s tongue teased at his bottom lip. He raised his hands, clutching John’s biceps, leaning down to him as John sank back to flat feet.

John chuckled, pulling away. “You’re responsive,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over Mycroft’s bottom lip.

Mycroft opened his eyes, meeting John’s. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I suppose I am.”

“Brilliant,” John said, and leaned up for another kiss.

**  
_“Cracked? It’s cracked,” Mycroft said, looking at his chessboard in horror. This one was small, having only to do with affairs of the heart, far away from the others, and hidden. It was tucked away, the game pieces clustered in the corner. “Why is it cracked?”_

_“Obvious, brother mine,” the knight said, gliding forward in a swirl of his dark cape. “John Watson.”_

_“What?” Mycroft hissed. “Surely you are not implying that-”_

_The knight interrupted, clearing his throat and gesturing down. Mycroft followed his gaze, air escaping him as he saw the water bubbling up._

_“What is happening?” Mycroft snarled. “What is this?”_

_“It was a kiss. You felt the board crack, didn't you?” the knight smirked. “But you thought it was ‘something breaking free in your chest’. How romantic. So sentimental, Mycroft, truly.”_

_Mycroft swore as the knight continued. “By the looks of this, you're too late. Look. Already lapping at your feet and what is it? The third date tomorrow? Mummy always said you'd fall and fall hard, didn't she? Scoffed at you when you swore love was for fools with time on their hands.” The knight moved a few more squares. “Don’t worry, Mycroft. The fall only hurts when you land,” he said and pushed._

_Mycroft shouted as he fell from the edge of the board, plummeting down, a wave slamming into him taking him under, the surface of the water closing over his face. Colorful fish darted past him as he sank, a shark flashing teeth as it chased after him, tail brushing against Mycroft’s legs._

_“Shh.”_

_Mycroft cried out, water rushing into his mouth, choking as arms wrapped around him, pulling him up to the surface._

_John pushed him up onto one of the chessboards, his tail swishing lazily through the water. “It’s all right, you know,” he said, cocking his head at Mycroft as the man spat up water, coughs wracking his body. “Being human. It doesn’t hurt.” Gills flapped on his throat, and he smiled, warm and bright. “Falling. That might hurt. That could kill you. Unless someone is there to catch you. I caught you once, didn’t I?”_

_Mycroft watched as John pushed off the board, scales shimmering in the light as he dove down._

_“Wait. Wait, John, come-”_


	3. Your Goldfish

“-back!”

Mycroft woke with the shout as it was ripped from his throat. He collapsed back against his pillows, body wracked with shivers. He grasped for his mobile with shaking hands, texting Anthea almost blindly.

**Ill. Will not be able to work. Reschedule meetings. MH**

_Of course, sir. Do you require medical attention? A._

**Simple rest and fluids. A high fever and head cold. MH**

**Yes, sir. I'll bring medication by later today. Ensure you rest. I will deal with the situation in Bolivia. A.**

Mycroft let the phone slip from his grasp to land on the mattress with a quiet thud. He turned onto his side, curling into a ball and closing his eyes once more.

**

He was woken later by his phone buzzing relentlessly against his hip. He reached out and answered, holding it to his ear. “Yes?”

“Mycroft, thank god. Sherlock’s gotten himself blown up again,” John replied frantically. “We’re at the hospital, and he's really only singed and knocked his head, but they're giving me a hard time, and Sherlock’s only making it worse. The police are saying he set the explosion, which he didn't and I can't get ahold of Greg and-”

“I'll handle it,” Mycroft said faintly. “Goodbye John.” He hung up, despite John still talking to him on the other end of the line.

He let out a quiet groan and moved slowly from the bed, downing an unhealthy handful of paracetamol dry and going to dress.

**

Twenty minutes later, he was walking into the hospital, umbrella taking a bit more of his weight than it was used to, following the dulcet tones of his brother’s shouting.

“And furthermore, you are all utterly inept, low brow-”

“Sherlock, if you please?” Mycroft said, holding up a hand and interrupting.

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out-”

“Ma’am, I'm going to have to ask you to sign these transfer papers and I'll have your patient removed from your care so we can all go home,” Mycroft said, interrupting the nurse with a manila folder shoved into her hands. “If you please.”

“Thank god, someone with an iota of sense,” Sherlock sneered as the nurse stumbled away. “Your goldfish had to walk out. Apparently, he couldn't handle me any longer. The police have finally come to their senses anyway. Lestrade showed up and explained the situation.”

“I hardly blame him, you're reprehensible sometimes,” Mycroft replied. “Head injury?”

“Perhaps.” Sherlock muttered as he went from snapping to sulking in a moment.

“I'll have you taken to the normal place then. Do behave,” Mycroft said, forcing himself to stay standing straight, head pounding. “Good day, Sherlock.”

He turned and stepped out, making his way carefully down the hall, on the way back to the waiting car.

“Mycroft?” John called from behind him. “Christ, sit down. You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you all right?” He hurried over, guiding Mycroft to a chair. “You’re ill. You’re burning up,” John said, concern leeching into his voice. “Why didn’t you say on the phone?”

“Sherlock needed me,” Mycroft said faintly, cursing that he hadn’t gotten to the car in time.

“We could have handled it if you’d told me you were sick,” John chastised. “C’mon. Sherlock’s getting transferred somewhere else I assume, yeah? I’m taking you home, and making sure you get some fluids in you.”

“I’m quite all right. There is a car waiting,” Mycroft protested, John’s hands comforting him just by resting on his shoulders.

“Good, we won’t need to take a cab,” John said, helping him back up.

“Perhaps some assistance wouldn’t be amiss,” Mycroft muttered as the world swam before him, gripping John’s arm tight. “Sitting down may have been a mistake.”

“You’re lucky I’m not making sure you get admitted,” John remarked, shaking his head and leading him out. “I bet you’ve had nothing to drink all day, have you?”

**  
“There. You’ve had a bit to eat, and your fever dropped a bit as well. Rest now, would you?” John asked, setting a glass of water on the bedside table, and a bottle of pills that Anthea had handed off to him when he answered the door.

“Yes, doctor,” Mycroft said, bundled under the blankets once more, shivers having abated quite a bit.

John smiled. “I’m going to go back to Baker Street, and enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit, unless you need me here,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over to press a kiss to Mycroft’s temple. “Sleep well, gorgeous.”

“I will be fine. Anthea is lurking.” Mycroft smiled faintly. “Thank you, John. I would have been all right on my own.”

“I know you would have been, but then I don’t get to play doctor,” John replied with a chuckle, standing back up. “I love it so much, I made a career of it, so any chance I can get really.” He set a hand on Mycroft’s hip. “Feel better, all right? I hope I’ll still get to see you Friday.”

“It is Monday, I have all week to recover,” Mycroft murmured. “John….you still wish to come over for dinner, don’t you?”

John nodded. “Course. You’re cooking, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mycroft rolled over, looking at him. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft,” John said, and leaned down again, pressing his lips to Mycroft’s brow. “Don’t be afraid to call if you need a doctor. I’ll answer.”

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft yawned. John patted him gently on the hip and left, shutting the lights off on his way, unable to help the niggling feeling that had he asked, Mycroft would have told him to stay.

**

Mycroft hurried to the door, pausing to brush his top free of any flour or other food particles from fixing dinner. “John,” he said, smiling at the man. “I'm glad you can be here under better circumstances.”

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” John said, stepping in. “You look nice, Mycroft. Cardigan suits you.” He smiled. “Except you've got some flour here.” He reached out, and brushed off Mycroft’s hip. “You definitely cooked then?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “You have no allergies, except for crab, which is a bit amusing considering your love for them. However, if you don't like it, I'd be more than happy to-”

“Mycroft, I'm sure I'll love it.” John shook his head and stepped in close to him, raising up a bit to peck Mycroft on the cheek. “Is it ready?”

“Just nearly.” Mycroft couldn't help but share a smile, though his stomach roiled with nerves.

“Good.” John smiled back. “Can I help?”

“You could get the wine,” Mycroft said, leading him into the kitchen as the oven timer went off.

“I could do that,” John agreed. “Glasses?”

“Already in the dining room, as is the wine.” Mycroft gestured out another door, and John chuckled, making his way out. Mycroft took a deep breath, suddenly drowning in the idea that John was here, in his house, that they were dating, that John wanted to be with him, kiss him. That they were...something.

“You know, for all your talk about not being- Mycroft, what’s wrong?” John asked with concern, hurrying over as he reentered the kitchen.

Mycroft shook his head, bracing himself on the kitchen counter. “Nothing,” he murmured. “I was simply…overtaken with a certain thought.”

John sighed, setting his hand on Mycroft’s lower back. “Hey,” he said, wetting his lips. “This...sort of stuff isn’t easy for me either. And I’m used to Sherlock, so…” He trailed off, moving closer to Mycroft. “Remember what I said that first day? Just...relax. This won’t work unless you relax, and I didn’t want to give it up then, I really don’t want to give it up now.”

Mycroft straightened and cleared his throat, hands flexing around the handle of an invisible umbrella. “John, if I might ask then, what are we?”

“What are we?” John repeated, wetting his lips again. “Well. We’ve been on-”

“Three dates.”

“Right,” John said, continuing. “But we’ve known each other for how long now?”

“Several years,” Mycroft said quietly.

“Okay then. So why are we such shite at talking to each other?” John asked, suddenly feeling exhausted, leaning back against the counter.

Mycroft huffed a quiet laugh. “That even I cannot answer.” He looked at John and turned, leaning against the counter as well.

“Can we just start over?” John asked softly.

“Start over?”

“Yeah.” John pushed himself off the counter, and held his hand out for Mycroft. “Oh, so you’re Sherlock’s brother. Pleased to meet you.”

Mycroft blinked. “John. What are you doing?”

“Starting over,” John said with a wink. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand?”

Mycroft shook his hand, a bemused smile blooming over his face.

“You know, you’ve a lovely smile, and I don’t normally do this on a first meeting, but would you like to go to dinner?” John asked, grinning at him. “Tonight, of course.”

“I could be convinced.”

“Good. I know this amazing chef. You look a bit like him actually. The foods like magic, ready as soon as you get there,” John said, releasing Mycroft’s hand and picking up the two plates the other man had dished out. “Come along then. I’ll show you.” Mycroft followed him out, watching John set the plates down and then pull out a chair, gesturing Mycroft to sit down. “Wine?” John asked, pushing his chair in and going to sit as well.

“Would be lovely,” Mycroft replied, watching as John poured and then handed him a glass. “You know, for someone who doesn’t ask anyone out on the first meeting, you’re doing an excellent job.”

“I’d hope so. I wouldn’t want to ruin my chances at a second date,” John replied, taking a sip of his wine, setting the glass down and smiling with ruby tinged lips. “Shall we eat?”

“Of course,” Mycroft replied, picking up his fork. “You really will have to introduce me to the chef, this looks delectable.”

John laughed, picking up his fork as well. “My pleasure.”

**  
“That really was good, Mycroft,” John said, drying a platter and setting it aside to take the next dish from Mycroft, who was surprisingly elbows deep in sudsy water, washing the dishes by hand. “I don't know why I was surprised you could cook.”

“Because you've thought for years I must have someone to do my cooking for me,” Mycroft replied, glancing at him as he washed the last spoon. “And you are correct. But some things are occasionally better done by oneself. How else would I retain my humanity?”

“Browsing art museums? Appreciating sharks? Reading poetry? Getting your brains shagged out on the kitchen counter?”

There was a dull clink as the last spoon fell from Mycroft’s grasp and into the sink. “The...the kitchen?”

John set aside his towel, coming over and sliding his hands around Mycroft’s waist. “The kitchen counter,” he repeated. “Or the dining room table. Or the bedroom, if you’d be more comfortable,” he said, pressing his lips to the back of Mycroft’s neck. “Or nothing at all, if you’d prefer. But I would absolutely love to get a little bit more than a glance at what is under your clothes,” he whispered, sliding his hands up from Mycroft’s waist to his shoulders, then down Mycroft’s arm, wrapping his hand around Mycroft’s. “What do you think?”

“I….I’m not quite sure,” Mycroft breathed, heart skipping. “There are, ah, far too many options.”

“Then leave the dishes, and let’s explore them,” John murmured, coaxing Mycroft to turn around to face him. “Come on, gorgeous. Do you want me? Tell me the truth.”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, wetting his lips, staring down at John. “It has been a while of course.”

“Mm, not a problem,” John replied, taking Mycroft’s hands and pushing them up, tugging his cardigan over his head and tossing it onto the counter. “We can go slow. Very, very slow,” he said, reaching up to Mycroft’s collar, and undoing the first button of his shirt.

Mycroft nodded, almost mesmerized by the path of John’s hands as they moved down his shirt, undoing each button one by one, pushing it open. “Beautiful freckles,” John muttered. “Gorgeous.”

“Ah, thank you,” Mycroft breathed, reaching back to grip the counter with one hand as John trailed his fingers over his chest.

“Have you made a decision yet?” John asked, wetting his lips and leaning up for a kiss. “Or should I make a decision?”

Mycroft shook his head. “I’ve yet to decide.”

“Well, I suppose then I’ll give you a little more time,” John said, dragging his lips down Mycroft’s chest, fixing his mouth around one nipple and sucked, fingers pinching the other.

Mycroft arched into the touch, breath stolen in a quiet, harsh cry of, “John!”

John chuckled. “That’s right,” he said, pulling away. “My name. Think I can get you screaming it by the end of the night?”

“Undoubtedly,” Mycroft said, sagging against the counter, cock unbearably hard against his trousers front. “But...the bedroom?”

“Lead the way,” John said. “I’ll enjoy the view.” He smirked, and dragged Mycroft down for another kiss before releasing him, and climbing the stairs behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


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